Long Lost
by Varda's Servant
Summary: You can only run so far before the past catches up. Even if it was a past that you weren't there for. That you didn't even know existed. And when it finds you...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yo all! Welcome to the teaser chapter of my new CSI fic. Yup, it's another Greg one. Angsty goodness. Now, because this is a teaser chapter, don't expect an update too soon. I'm mainly posting it because I'm stuck in a rut and need to change the scenery. Writers block is evil.

I will endeavour to get this fic up and running ASAP though. Hopefully have new chapters within a month. If my muse cooperates. So please review, I need ideas and randomness to inspire me. :-P

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own em, wish I did, but am just borrowing them for my own weird, but fun, games.

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Chapter 1

"Greg, hey Greg!" Warrick trotted after the chemist's retreating back. Greg didn't stop, didn't even acknowledge that he'd heard the CSI. Warrick caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder gently.

"Hey man," Warrick joked, "turned deaf all of a sudden? Griss wanted you to come out with me and..."

Warrick trailed off when he noticed Greg's face. He was pale and his eyes were red, as if he'd been crying.

"Greg? You all right?" Greg only nodded. Warrick tried to get Greg to look up, but he only succeeded in making him back away a little, avoiding Warrick's touch.

"Man, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing." Greg croaked. "I need to get back to the lab."

"The sub's there already, Grissom wanted you to come out with me and Sara. We've got a floater in Lake Mead."

Greg shook his head. "Not today." With that he turned and headed back the way he'd come, not looking behind. Warrick stood puzzled for a moment before heading after him.

"Greg, what's the matter?" When he got no response, he decided to check with Grissom. Maybe he knew what was wrong.

"It was weird. He looked like someone had run over his favourite dog or something."

Grissom studied Warrick silently, listening to his account. When he had finished, Grissom took off his glasses and laid them on the desk.

"If he doesn't want to talk, we can't make him."

"Aw, come on Griss. Something is bothering him, we can't just let him bottle it up. We have to help him. He's one of us."

"I know that."

"Well, you should talk to him."

Grissom sighed and stood up. "If he comes to me, then yes, I will talk to him. Not before. I'm sorry, but we both have work to do." Grissom stood by the door. Warrick reluctantly got up.

"Just promise me one thing."

Grissom waited.

"Promise me you'll talk to him if he's still upset tomorrow."

"I don't know if I can do that."

Warrick pursed his lips, looking like he was about to argue further, then left silently. Grissom watched him leave. He knew Warrick was unhappy with his response, but there truly wasn't much Grissom could do. Unless it affected a case, and Greg seemed to want to avoid that.

He sat behind his desk again, working through the paperwork as best he could. His mind was still skipping back to Greg, though he tried to concentrate. He kept telling himself there was nothing he could do. That his hands were tied.

Which was, sadly, too true.

* * *

Greg sat back. He had just finished the set of samples from the armed robbery downtown that Cath was working on, and there was nothing else to do right now. For once, he wasn't backlogged. 

He cradled the cup of strong coffee in his hands gently, as if he was afraid of crushing the mug. He stared absently down at the black liquid, mind somewhere else.

The sub had gone out for a dinner break, somewhat surprised that he'd declined fieldwork. Everyone knew how much he wanted to be a CSI, and it wasn't long before his presence was noted. However, most were too perceptive to intrude.

Most.

"Slacking off again?"

Hodges annoying nasal voice cut through whatever scene Greg was visiting. He looked up. Hodges was leaning casually against the workbench across from Greg, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well, that's probably why you decided not to go out tonight. Wanted some laze time."

Greg was silent. His impassive stare started to unnerve Hodges, who suddenly felt uncomfortable. Making a hurried excuse, he fled, and Greg returned to his new hobby of trying to outstare coffee.

Which is how Grissom found him.

* * *

Grissom finally gave up on attempting to clear up his pile of paperwork. He couldn't concentrate on that, he knew it, and trying to pretend wasn't helping.

He thought about Warrick's words earlier, deciding to at least try and find out what was wrong with Greg. Maybe he would tell him.

Grissom headed out of his office and down the corridor to the DNA lab. He paused outside as he saw Hodges enter. While Grissom couldn't hear what was being said, he could see the expressions and body language perfectly.

Grissom understood now why Warrick was worried. Greg's face, his body, they conveyed a mindset not usually associated with Greg Sanders. As far as Grissom could tell, Greg didn't say a thing to Hodges. And Hodges became less cocky and more unsure, and even unnerved, the longer he stayed.

When Hodges finally left, he looked both uncomfortable and confused. Like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

Grissom studied Greg again. He seemed to be staring down at his hands, or something he was holding. Grissom made his decision and entered the lab. The sub was nowhere to be seen.

Grissom approached Greg slowly. He was staring into his mug of coffee. This wasn't the Greg he knew.

"Greg?" There was no response, so Grissom tried again. "Greg?"

This time Greg looked up, lazily. His face was unreadable, expression closed.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Did you want something?" Even his voice was different, flat and cold.

"Yes," Grissom replied, "I wanted your help with something."

"Samples?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what exactly?"

Grissom beckoned Greg after him as he left the lab. Greg put down his mug of coffee and followed Grissom.

Making a split-second decision, Grissom led Greg to the front desk where they both signed out. Grissom then headed out to his Tahoe, Greg following faithfully behind. When Grissom climbed in, Greg did the same.

Starting the car, backing out, driving down a street, then another, then another, it was all done in silence. Grissom waited for Greg to say something, but he didn't. Greg sat silently, eyes forward, impassive. Finally, Grissom broke the silence.

"What's wrong, Greg."

"Nothing."

Turn left, drive to the end of the street, turn right, stop at a set of lights.

"There is something wrong, and if you don't tell me what it is, I'll send you to a counsellor."

Drive down a street, turn right, then another right, queue in traffic.

"Do what you feel like."

Greg's answer, when it came, was said devoid of emotion. Grissom pulled the car up outside of an all-night diner.

"Get out."

As Greg climbed out, Grissom turned off the car. He climbed out and entered the diner. Greg followed again. When Grissom chose a booth, Greg slid in opposite him. Grissom picked up a menu and skimmed over the choices. Greg stared out the window.

When the waitress came, Grissom ordered coffee and breakfast for both of them. Greg continued to stare out the window. When their order came, Grissom told Greg to eat. He did, obediently and without interest.

When they had finished, Grissom ordered more coffee for them, watching Greg carefully. Greg ignored the scrutiny, staring out the window.

"Greg..." Grissom finally broke the silence. Greg turned his eyes to Grissom, but seemed to not be there at all. Like he was off in his own little world. Maybe he was. Grissom didn't know.

"Greg, talk to me." Grissom tried again, this time getting a response.

"I'm fine Grissom. Really."

"No you aren't, and don't think for a minute that we haven't noticed." Grissom started to feel angry at Greg for his obstinacy. Why couldn't he just tell him what was the matter?

Greg shrugged, which only annoyed Grissom more. He shoved his emotions away, they wouldn't help right now.

"Greg, please. Just tell me what's wrong."

"It's not your business." Grissom was starting to wonder when Greg had lost all his emotions.

"It is my business."

"Really. How so?" Greg's voice was still flat, empty.

"I'm your boss. I should know if it begins to affect your work."

"It hasn't though."

"Yes, it has. You refused field work tonight, and that is a glaring sign to everyone that something is wrong." Grissom sat back, studying the impassive man. He was unsure how to break through such a cold shell. Nothing seemed to be working.

Greg shrugged again. "It's my decision; you can't force me to become a CSI."

Grissom stopped dead. He never once thought Greg would reconsider his desire to become a CSI. For as long as he'd known the lab tech, he'd wanted to do more, to be an investigator. What could have possibly happened to make him change his mind?

Greg sat waiting, like a marble statue. Grissom finally decided to give up for tonight. This wasn't going anywhere, and pushing Greg too far could worsen the consequences. Whatever they may be.

Grissom pulled out his wallet, waving away Greg's money as he paid the tab. He left the diner, Greg still following, as he had all night. He climbed in, started the car, and drove them back to the lab. He didn't try and broach conversation, Greg seeming to not notice or care as he stared out the window.

Grissom pulled into the lot and parked. He sat for a moment, but Greg didn't say anything as he got out and slammed the door. He didn't look behind as he headed back inside the building. Heaving a sigh, Grissom followed slowly, wondering how to help the CSI-in-training.

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He sat, glaring out at the world. He hated it. All of it. All of _them._

They were the worst, though no one ever agreed. They all tried to tell him that there was nothing wrong with them. That they had done the right thing.

He scoffed. There was no right thing. Not here. Not in this case. Well, that wasn't completely true. There was a right thing, they just hadn't chosen it. It would have been so easy to do so, but instead they had rejected him, all of them had.

Well, he fixed them. First the pair, years ago, it had been so easy. His plan was ruined however, when the surviving ones scattered. Disappeared. He knew that they couldn't run forever, but he hated setbacks.

Well, the setbacks were over now. He had almost gotten them all. One more now, just one. The worst one of them all was left. The pretender. The one who had taken his sacred spot. Well, that one would soon be dead.

One last look out at the cold, cruel world. He got up and slid into his jacket. He left the cheap motel room, intent on his new target. In a few days, retribution would be complete.

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Greg opened the door to his apartment. Between the news about his youngest brother and work, he was feeling like he had been put through a wringer.

He dropped his keys on the counter and wandered over to the couch. Dropping onto it, he leaned back, resting his head.

He was so tired of death. It plagued him, followed him. Tomorrow he would call Rebecca, but right now, he could barely deal with his own grief. He loved his sister dearly, but not right now, not with a migraine the size of Alaska.

A shrill shriek woke him suddenly, startling him. He sat up, realizing he had fallen asleep on the couch. And that the shrill noise was the phone ringing on the end table, and not someone being horribly murdered.

"'Lo?" He was still a little groggy, so at first he didn't recognize Nick on the other end. "Nick? Wha's up?"

"Um, hey Greg. Would you mind coming down to work? There's some stuff you should... look, could you just come down?"

"Sure. What's this about?"

"When you get here, alright? It's something you should hear in person."

Greg felt his guts freeze at those words, and he was suddenly wide awake. "What is it?"

"Greg, please, just come down."

Before Greg could reply, Nick hung up. Greg stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, then he slammed it down, grabbed his keys and raced out to his car.

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He hurriedly signed in, wondering why something so urgent that he had been hustled out of, well, bed wasn't urgent enough to have someone waiting for him in the lobby.

He checked Grissom's office, but it was empty. So was the break room.

Greg was wandering around the corridors when he ran into Catherine coming in the opposite direction.

"Oh, Greg... Hey..."

Greg waited for more, but Catherine only looked at him with an odd expression. "Um, Cath? Mind telling me what I'm here for?"

"Um, maybe you should go down to the morgue. Nick and Griss are there."

When he realized that no more information would be forthcoming, he slowly turned away and headed in the direction of Doc Robbin's domain. Certainty formed slowly deep in his guts, and now that he knew, or thought he knew, there was no need to hurry.

If he was right, Rebecca wasn't going anywhere.

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Two men stood over the body of a young woman, no older than twenty-five. A third stood looking at some x-rays on the lightboard a few paces away.

"She didn't go easy."

Doctor Robbins looked over the young victim laid out before him regretfully.

"No," said Grissom, "she didn't. But then, not many people would."

Nick turned from his close examination of the x-rays to stare at the woman, Rebecca Sanders. "She looks a lot like Greg. Her eyes..." he spoke softly, trailing off.

Footsteps interrupted whatever Grissom was about to reply with. The trio watched the door expectantly. They were not disappointed when it was Greg that stepped through the swing doors, a resigned expression adorning his face. No words were said as he approached the table, no words were needed. They all knew why they were there.

Greg stood looking at the face of his baby sister. No tears fell from his eyes. He had done all the crying he could - now he was caught too deep in a riptide of grief.

He was glad of the white sheet that lay lightly over her body; it provided the illusion of decency in a world gone violent and barbaric.

"How?" His voice was steady, but dark, sorrowful.

"She was stabbed." Doc Robbins looked uncomfortable, it wasn't in his job description to comfort grieving family, especially not when he knew them.

"Murdered." Greg turned away from the table and the gruesome testimony to his failure it held.

"Greg, we need to ask you some questions." Grissom looked as though he would rather say anything other than that, but it had to be said.

"I know. Just ask, I don't want to... I don't-"

"We don't have to do it now."

"Yes, we do."

"Well, at the very least we can move somewhere more comfortable."

Greg nodded choppily, then left the room, Grissom and Nick following.

Doc Robbins looked after the men for long moments after they left his morgue. With a last glance at the body, he covered her slowly, pulling the sheet over her face and Greg's empty eyes.

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"When was the last time you saw your sister?"

"Um, about a year and a half ago. It was a family thing. My – my little brother was there too. Jason."

"Have you told Jason about this yet?"

Greg looked up at Grissom with eyes flat and dead. Like Rebecca's...

"Jason's dead."

Nick and Grissom exchanged a look, Greg staring at the table once more.

"What happened?" Grissom's voice was like a shout in the silence of the interview room.

"I didn't even know she was in Vegas, I have no idea what happened."

Greg's voice was hoarse, upset, and Grissom felt like his heart might shatter. He knew Greg was an orphan, he'd known since the day Greg had come to him and asked to put Grissom's name down as one of his emergency contacts. He'd wanted someone right there in Vegas as one of them, just in case.

Grissom knew that he'd just come upon the reason for Greg's despondency of late. And he hated himself for the questions he had to ask now.

"Not to Rebecca, Greg, to Jason. What happened to Jason?"

Greg looked up once more, disbelieving. "You don't think... No. He died in a car accident. An accident. Not a murder."

"So Rebecca was coming down here to see you?"

"Yeah. Probably."

"When did Jason die?"

"Three days ago. I got the news the other day."

Slowly shaking his head, Grissom glanced at Nick once more. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why?" A fire was in the lab techs eyes now. "Why? Because you didn't know him. You didn't know Becca either. You would have given me all those shallow platitudes and condolences that you give all the families of victims around here. But you wouldn't know what you're talking about. Because you don't know them, you don't even really know me, so what does it have to do with you? Nothing!"

Greg had risen during his spiel, and he turned and stormed out at the end, his chair clattering hollowly on the floor like a death-knell.

Nick sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "This is a mess. God. I feel sorry for Greg, this has got to be rough."

"A lot more than rough. He hasn't got any close family left."

Staring after Grissom as he left the room, Nick sat in shock. All of them? Dead?

A shiver ran up the CSI's spine. This wasn't right. None of it. Could it be coincidence that Greg's family was dying, one by one? _Was killed,_ a little voice commented bitterly. The only one left was Greg.

Greg...

The thought was like a bucket of ice water. One by one...

No close family left...

All dead...

Bolting out the door, Nick raced down the corridors, desperate to find Greg, Grissom, Sara, anyone. But there were no CSI's in the building. There were all gone.

Pulling out his cell, Nick began dialling.

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A/N: So, there you have it, the second part of my newest fic. As a warning, the chapters are going to be coming out less frequently than I have often done in the past. But they are longer then my usual standard, so I hope that makes up for it slightly. Also, this fic will probably be very short, no more than five or so chapters. So no mammoth production for now.

And I'm sorry about the last chapter, for some reason most of my section breaks disappeared. I will try and fix that for you guys, I just hope will cooperate.

Cheers!


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